


With Your Smile So Warm

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Come Sharing, Established Relationship, Frottage, Hot Tub Sex, M/M, Married Sex, Riding, Top Dean, Top Sam, Wedding Rings, Wincest - Freeform, but my first attempt at married wincest sucked, so here's another go, the most ridiculously schmoopy fic to ever fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1523906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been together for practically forever and Dean decides that it's finally time he does something to make that more permanent - and it turns out to be the best decision he's ever made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nishka Wolf (NishkaGray)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NishkaGray/gifts).



> This is very vaguely season 9-ish but without all of the terrible issues and things and their stead sweet kisses and boys in love because I am an A+ sap - but I think you all know that by now. This one is in two parts because I can't lead off of the first adequately.
> 
> Also, for Nishka who actually thinks my writing is good. (Someone lied to her.)

Sam tries not to draw attention to himself – being six four and sporting a glorious (Dean’s word, not his) mane of brown hair tends to do the job well enough for him.

            Then again, some days with the weight of the world hanging on his shoulders is impossible to ignore, making him stoop and seem much, much smaller than he actually is, the broadness of his upper body pointed downwards, eyes hooded in a kicked puppy expression that Sam does better than any dog Dean’s ever seen.

            For whatever reason, the last hunt had absolutely drained him, mentally and physically.  Shifters were sometimes innocent, sometimes not so much.  Sam just wishes this last one hadn’t hit so close to home. 

            He’d been a grad student, Matthew was his name,  young and hopeful and full of promise – like Sam a little over a decade ago, fresh faced and nothing but a backpack and eighteen years of history weighing him down as he’d strode into his freshman chemistry class.  They had thought it was another shifter in the area, the one who looked like a beast in human form – as it turns out it was Matthew who’d been killing off professors, taking the form of a Rottweiler, of all things.  And Sam had been the one who’d pulled the trigger and shot him dead, the last thing he saw being Sam’s horrified expression.  What scared Sam more was the fact he’d seen himself in more ways than one as Matthew had bled to death on the cold concrete behind the science building on his campus – that yearning to be good and do the right thing mixed with something inexplicably and unfathomably horrible and beyond his control.

            Dean had held Sam extra close that night, didn’t have to say a word to him to know what Sam had felt.  Dean had always felt Sam’s pain as much as his own, so tied up and integrated with each other that Dean’s convinced that they got hit with a curse somewhere along the way that actually connects them on a deeper level – it’s like the movie he’d dragged Sam to see, Pacific Rim, with the pilots being in each other’s heads.  Funny how fiction hits close to home, especially when it came to him and Sam.

            Sam’s trudge down the stairs into the bunker is weary, each footstep echoing loud against the twining staircase, like gravity is threatening to suck Sam right through the floor.  Dean hates to see him like that, can’t get past how each trod of Sam’s foot sounds more and more resigned.  It puts a vice on his heart, squeezing so tight that it makes his breathing stop.

            Dean notices that Sam’s stopped in the library, hands gripping the edge of the table and his head cast down and God he looks tired, so, so tired, his bag dumped next him on the ground, book bag on the table and it might be laying its contents (several weighty tomes of shifter research) on Sam’s laptop but he doesn’t care because he, in a way, killed himself two states and twenty four hours back and it’s enough to freeze him in place right there. 

            _Shit._

            Dean’s developed some awesome (to him anyway) coping mechanisms over the years – not the kind to deal with his own brand of crap but the ones that help Sam sort through it, the constant mess of their, dare he call it this, careers.  It’s hard to do some days because Sam’s got this habit of retreating into himself to a place that not even Dean can draw him out of – Sam hates to be coddled and Dean gets that, he really does.  Sam’s a grown man who’s beyond capable of taking care of himself (even if some days Dean thinks he grew up too quick – hell they both did and that’s a psychological Pandora’s Box neither of them have any desire to open.)   Right now though Dean’s not going to let Sam clam himself up when it’s obvious he’s hurting, physically (stitches across his side from where Matthew had gotten a good bite of him) and mentally.  He can handle mopey Sam no problem but quiet, inward retreating apathetic Sam scares the shit out of him worse than any demon that’s ever held a knife to his throat.

            Sam’s still as Dean’s arms wrap around his waist from behind and he rests his head in between Sam’s shoulder blades, the hard tension knots evident even through the fabric of Sam’s thick jacket (the northern climes of Minnesota hadn’t exactly caught up on the whole idea of spring yet and Sam hadn’t taken it off since they left Duluth yesterday,) yet another sign that Sam was pulling back into his mind.  It had always been that way, and Dean had watched him go through a lot of hoodies, jackets, blankets and long sleeve shirts – Sam sought warmth when he got like this, and not necessarily that of another human body, a desire to have something against his skin that he put there and could remove if he chose to do so.  Dean guesses it has something to do with that ingrained stubbornness to be self-sustaining, independent.  (Even if Sam’s version of independence still includes Dean in the picture – he knows he couldn’t give that up even if he tried.)

            Sometimes Dean wishes to his core that he could give Sam that.

            It’s not until he feels Sam’s shoulders reduce in size that Dean realizes Sam’s been holding his breath – for how long he’s not sure.  He also hears the tremulous inhale, like Sam’s gasping for air and can’t get it into his lungs.  Dean squeezes him a little tighter and reaches for Sam’s hands, linking them together across Sam’s stomach and pulling him into a more upright position.

            “Come with me Sammy.”  Dean realizes they’re the first words he’s spoken in almost three hours, the last leg of their journey home conducted in silence, Sam having turned to look out the window and curling up in the seat as much a man of his size could, putting up a wall between him and Dean that Dean hadn’t dared try and break at the time – he understood the need for quiet more than anyone and if that’s what Sam wanted he would gladly spare it to him for a little while.

            The bunker had revealed quite a few surprises after they’d first moved in over a year ago – including an Olympic-sized swimming pool complete with a hot tub off to the side – Dean hadn’t exactly been able to condemn the Men of Letters for having bad taste in well, anything.  Normally time in the hot tub came with cold beer (or champagne when Sam was feeling romantic) and sex, Dean having put a small storage locker to hold silicone based lube and a couple other things necessary for carnal activities next to the step up into it so they wouldn’t have to make the hike back up to their room for them.  Then again, getting Sam naked for the purpose of sex isn’t on his mind right now – this is about bringing Sam back from going walking dead on him for the next day to week, just depending on how quickly it took for him to… be okay, and that was about as close to a term for it that Dean had been able to come up with.

            Dean’s quick about taking off his clothes, Sam doing the same and taking Dean’s hand as they settle into the water, the jets having been turned on as soon as Dean had lead Sam down here.  Dean settles first, hid body held open in invitation as Sam sits between his spread legs – it feels completely natural, the two of them slotted together like this, would still be that way even if Sam were in Dean’s position.  It’s warm here, and quiet, the only light coming from the lamps that halo the rim of the hot tub’s interior.

            Dean can already guess what Sam has to say but all the same he knows Sam needs to talk it out, even if he doesn’t want Dean to do anything but listen.  They’re long past the point of not telling each other stuff, not after everything they’ve risked because of lying and deception and silence – Sam’s far too precious to Dean to lose over not letting down the bullshit silent front that Sam’s been able to punch right through all his life.

            “Talk to me Sammy.”  Dean’s got his head hooked over Sam’s right shoulder, mouth right next to Sam’s ear so that Sam can hear him loud and clear.  “Let me in and let me help.”

            Sam sighs, pulling Dean’s arms a little tighter around him, chasing the warmth he can only get from skin-on-skin contact with his brother.  “Do I really have to say it Dean?”

            Dean gives Sam shoulder a kiss that lingers for a moment, the hot water bubbling around them.  “If you promise to not clam up and cut me off for the next week, then no, you don’t have to.  If not well… I’m all ears babe, you know that.”

            Sam shuts his eyes, his voice quiet, just barely audible above the sound of the hot tub’s water jets. “Put long hair and another two inches on Matthew and what do you get Dean, think about it.”

            Dean nods, one hand coming up out of the water to stroke Sam’s hair.  “I know it Sammy, I do.  But he wasn’t you.”

            Sam’s voice is quieter still.  “Doesn’t fucking matter he was still…. Just like me.”

            “No Sam, he wasn’t.  He couldn’t control it like….” Dean feels Sam tense and immediately backpedals. “Sam, he was gonna keep murdering and killing and physical appearance doesn’t matter a damn when that’s what someone really is – a murderous, uncontrollable creature.  You’re not that Sam, and you never have been.  He sure as hell didn’t jump into the Pit with the fucking Devil for the sake of saving his two-bit, pain in the ass of a brother.”

            Sam remains silent for a long time, no sound save for the gurgle of fifty year old jets that still blow water just as well as the day they were made.  Dean wonders if Sam’s shut down completely or is looking for the right words but he’s not moving or doing anything until Sam speaks first.

            “I kinda like my two bit, pain in the ass of a brother though so I’d say it was more than worth it.”  Dean can hear the smile in Sam’s voice return, slowly kindling a glimmer of hope that Sam’s going to be just fine in his mind.

            “Care to elaborate on what you like about him then?”  Dean kisses Sam’s neck, lingering for a moment as Sam shifts around so that he’s facing Dean.

            “Well for starters….” Sam’s fingers are slightly pruned as they cup Dean’s stubble covered cheeks.  “He’s a good guy, and I’d say he’s worth at least three bits.  Four on weekends.”  Sam leans forward to kiss Dean’s forehead, a hint of a smile turning up the corner of his lips.

            “I’d say five but that might be too much, bad economy and all.”  Dean’s arms go back around Sam, his hands joining at the middle of Sam’s broad back.  “Anything else?”

            Sam leaves a trail of soft kisses up the side of Dean’s neck and they’re the most perfect thing he’s ever felt, countless orgasms caused by Sam notwithstanding.  “He’s a very caring person when he’s not pretending to be a hardass.  Has a real heart of gold more genuine than anything I’ve ever encountered, and he’ll tell you – I’ve seen some shit.”  Sam’s smile broadens a little more, his eyes adoring as he spreads his thighs a little wider to make himself comfortable.

            “Bullshit.”  Dean doesn’t even pretend to not mean it but he still has to say something out of principle – it’s his job, after all.  Sam simply ignores him and dapples kisses over his jawline.

            “Definitely not bullshit.  He’s kind of awesome in bed too.  He thinks he’s a sex god and I’d say he fairly deserves to call himself that.  Been riding my dick for years and I swear he finds a way every single time to blow my damn mind.  Feels like _I’m_ the one who’s been fucked after it’s all said and done.”  Sam’s voice drops in pitch, slightly breathless and with more than a trace of desire.

            Dean blushes and looks down, avoiding Sam’s eyes but he’s not going to deny a word – Dean bottoms ninety percent of the time.  It’s never once been something either of them have really questioned, simply taken for what it is – Sam likes to fuck and Dean loves to get fucked.  Of course, if Dean ever wants to top Sam’s more than willing to let him – no one’s masculinity is ever affected.  They’ve simply found that they have the best orgasms when Sam’s inside Dean.  Sure Dean has to do some kegels but it’s worth keeping himself in shape – Sam’s got a big dick and he loves to feel every inch of him as much as possible and he likes to keep himself tight because it’s totally worth the way Sam moans and writhes under him as he sinks downwards.  Or as Sam fucks him into the mattress, either way Dean’s got no qualms about either.

            “You don’t have to say it out loud, you know.”  Sam tilts Dean’s head up and kisses him on the lips, just a gentle brush that leaves Dean wanting so much more.

            “But I do Dean.  And there’s something else too.  He always knows exactly what to say to me to keep me here, in the real world.  From retreating too far in and burying myself under my own crap.  Because he sees right through me and knows how get me out of it, he always has.  And I think that’s what I love about him the most because no one else has other done that for me.”  Sam’s got his arms wrapped around Dean’s neck and shoulders now, sitting in Dean’s lap and holding him close, his lips moving half a centimeter from Dean’s; it’s warm here, and safe, Dean’s arms looped around him like a life preserver – Dean’s got Sam and he’s not going to let him go.

            “Keep saying all this and he just might start to believe you.”  Dean’s eyes are closed, lost in the feeling of holding Sam to him and intensely aware of how deeply _intimate_ all of this feels, hearts bared in near darkness where it’s safe to spill such words without fear of having to take them back later.

            “I really, _really_ hope that he does.”  This time when Sam kisses Dean it’s like the warmest, most potent whiskey that’s ever been, a slow, searingly warm trickle that soon turns into a full on deluge of warmth, Sam’s tongue teasing Dean’s mouth open and Dean shivers – Sam’s kiss is like an elixir that Dean can’t fathom not having.  (And he does know what it’s like to be without that blessed touch – that year of agony after Stull Cemetery was spent chasing the ghost of Sam’s lips on his skin and it nearly killed him.)  The memory of _not having Sam_ makes Dean desperate and he goes from pliant and content to needy, trying to suck Sam’s tongue down his throat and Sam moves right with him – he’s used to these sometimes shifts in their intimate moments because each touch, each caress is loaded with history and memories and twinges of nearly having lost what is dear – Sam _knows_ , God he knows. Sam wishes it weren’t like that, that sometimes they could just be kisses and soft touches but they aren’t – he also wouldn’t trade what each one means for the world.

            Dean’s intensely aware of the fact that by now he’s thoroughly aroused – Sam’s touch has a way of doing that to him and he can feel himself pressing insistently against the juncture of Sam’s thigh and hip – Sam’s hard too, his cock lying flat against Dean’s belly, heavy and to Dean anyway, warmer than the water bubbling and gurgling around them.  Dean shifts his body upwards, Sam dropping down slightly so that his forehead is even with Dean’s and he’s not raised above him.  Dean reaches into the water and wraps his right hand around both him and Sam – not a necessarily easy task because Dean’s thick and Sam’s thicker still but he manages – he’s been doing this for a long time now and it’s more than worth it to feel Sam quake with pleasure as his callused palm slides down slowly over the flared head of his cock – circumcised they both may be but there’s still a lot of sensitivity and when Dean’s hand catches on the ridge of Sam’s glans he melts so Dean keeps his focus there for a moment, rocking his hand back and forth and feeling his teeth vibrate with Sam’s (and his) moans.

            Sam tries to wrap his legs around Dean’s waist, Dean getting the picture and pushing himself slightly off the wall of the hot tub and more towards the middle, both of them floating and bobbing as Dean jacks them off, one arm around Sam’s lower back to hold him up and Sam’s fingers tangled and moving through Dean’s now wet hair.  Dean hadn’t intended for their time here to become sexual but he’s not complaining it did, especially since Sam’s feeling better, given the way he’s playing tonsil hockey with Dean like he doesn’t have any other concerns in the world.  Dean grips them a little tighter and slides his fingers all the way down to the bases of their cocks and then slowly back up, feeling as much as hearing Sam’s breathing slow down – a sure sign that Sam’s upstairs brain had shut off and his body had taken over.

            With a soft kiss Dean asks “That feel good Sammy?” 

            The pet name makes Sam gather in impossibly closer, the affirmative made by Sam’s hips bucking up and his cock sliding against Dean’s – that feels fucking fantastic for both of them, the slow drag of Sam’s body against his and Dean swears he can feel the veins of Sam’s cock against his.  Sam kisses him again, hard, Dean repeating the slow motion of his hand and it’s almost too much but Sam holds on tight – there’s no rush here, no one to make them stop and even if there were they wouldn’t do it, not when they’re tangled together and in a place that only they know about.

            Sam gets one arm from around Dean’s neck and puts it under the water, his hand finding where Dean’s gripping them together.  “Link your fingers together with mine baby.”

            Sam feels Dean’s practiced digits lock with his, as much holding Sam’s hand as much as forming a tight bond on their cocks. Sam squeezing back and smiling at him, dimples dark and deep in his cheeks.

            “Like that Sammy?”  Dean kisses his chin and then goes back to his lips, not moving and simply holding himself there with Sam.

            “Fuck… yeah, Dean, yeah. “  Sam starts to move his hand, Dean right in sync with him and their mouths seal against each other’s, licking deep over teeth and gums and trying their best to scoop the taste of each other out – like they don’t already have it committed to memory for ever but that doesn’t mean they’re going to stop drinking from the fount of each other – it’s too good to quit and if one called the other a junkie for their body neither would deny it in the least.

            They try to go slow but they need this – the last hunt hadn’t allowed for too much time to be together, even if it was only a couple days.  All the same it was too long and it’s a burning need to feel each other, to chase bliss wrapped together and fall into it hand in hand – it’s as much about pure physical pleasure as it is deep, abiding connection, and it always has been for them, nothing casual or easy to forget the morning after.  Of course they don’t remember every orgasm or kiss they’ve given each other but Sam thinks that he could remember each of them if he really tried because every single one has been a blessing in a life of things denied and cut short, the one unchanging constant between them and it’s always there, really always has been.

            It’s not long before Sam feels the pull of orgasm low in his gut and it spreads like a fire through dry brush, the smoke of arousal making his eyes feel like they’re burning and it’s almost too hot but he steps into it willingly, Dean right behind him and sucking Sam’s bottom lip into his mouth and worrying it gently between his teeth, the one button that needs to be pushed and it sends Sam right over the edge that he’s been dangling on, come spurting warm and sticky underneath the water and getting all over he and Dean’s locked fingers. Dean follows a bare second later, motions becoming fast and uncoordinated as he uses his and Sam’s hands to pump his orgasm out of him, his release as copious and fulfilling as Sam’s, panting hot into Sam’s mouth and holding on tight.

            It’s some time before they even consider pulling apart and even then it’s just far enough away so that they’re still able to trade slow, lazy kisses, not at all yet ready to break away from each other’s touch.  Sam’s okay with that because right now he needs as much as wants Dean’s touch on his flesh and he’s pretty sure Dean feels the same.  It might be close to 3 am and they’re in a hot tub in a place that only two other people know about but it simply doesn’t matter, not with this thing that’s settled like a warm blanket over their shoulders, surrounding and joining them together.

            “We have to get out eventually” Sam says after some time, more or less in Dean’s lap and laying his head on his shoulder.

            “Says who?” Dean’s sleepy and sated, warm as much from Sam’s body heat as the fact he’s in a hot tub.

            “Says me because I can feel myself starting to prune.  And I’d like to go to fall asleep not covered in chlorine.”  Sam nuzzles Dean’s cheek, warm air huffing against his skin and Dean leans into it a little simply because he can.

            “If you turn into a prune I promise to keep you up somewhere so that the elderly can’t eat you.”  Dean doesn’t think it’s _that_ funny but it makes Sam giggle anyway.

            “C’mon, seriously – I’m bone tired and since you made me come I’m kinda liking the idea of our memory foam mattress.  Besides, I think morning sex is in order if we’re in bed within the next, oh, thirty minutes?”

            Dean practically ends up dragging Sam out of the water, splashing it all over their clothes on the ground but hey, they’ve been through worse.

            Chlorine water comes out a lot easier than werewolf blood anyway.

.  .  .

            When Dean’s eyes open the next day, his internal clock tells him it’s well past his normal wake up time of 9 am. (non-case time, of course – he’s always adjusting for that in the field.)  He can’t be too angry about Sam letting him sleep in until what feels like almost noon, especially since whatever Sam’s doing at the moment was partly responsible for his coming out from under the warm pall of thankfully dreamless slumber.

            He thinks about looking over at his watch just to rub it in later to Sam about how he’s wasted half the day sleeping but it doesn’t even make it past the half-formed idea stage, not when there’s a suspiciously Sam-shaped mass moving under the covers gathered at his waist.  Dean stretches for a long moment before reaching down to lift the five hundred thread count sheets (Sam had only complained about Dean splurging on them once – he hadn’t said a word after about it after sleeping under them that first night) and sure enough, there’s Sam, slowly kissing up the inside of his inner right thigh and slowly looking up at Dean, faux guilty look in his eye and his lips forming a very proud of himself grin.

            “Having fun down there?”  Dean’s voice is scratchy from disuse but he figures Sam’s been hearing it that way long enough to understand him.

            “Just getting warmed up Dean – you mind if I keep going?”  Sam’s going to anyway – for once he’s the one who woke up hard and leaking, only one objective in mind upon waking – have sex with Dean.  Which, to be fair, he had promised last night during their small hours of the night hot tub tryst.

            “Not at all Sammy – not often _I’m_ the one who gets woken up to sex.”  Dean throws the blankets off of them, both as naked as they were after showering last night.

            Sam rolls his eyes and keeps kissing up Dean’s thigh. “Because some of us actually like to sleep in the morning.” 

            Right as Dean’s about to fire back some witty retort about getting up at noon not being morning Sam mouths at his balls, pulling one into his mouth and sucking just hard enough that Dean’s cock goes from interested to deeply involved, his breath catching in his throat and hanging there for a second, exhaling as he slides his hands up Sam’s arms and settles them on his neck and head, rubbing as Sam laps at Dean’s heavy sac.  Dean loves it when Sam sucks on his balls because Sam’s damned good at it, always knows just the right amount of pressure to keep up on them – Dean’s come more than once from Sam doing that alone and as nice as that idea sounds right now he can already tell he wants more than just Sam’s mouth doing wonderful things to that particular spot of flesh.

            Sam doesn’t move though – he’s got Dean exactly where he wants him – that and if Dean wanted to move, he’s sure he would have by now.  Sam moves a little closer, sucking as much of Dean’s sac into his mouth as he can, Dean hissing through his teeth and gently tugging at Sam’s hair.  Sam figures he can give Dean another minute of this and then he’s going to have to move on to something else –that’s no problem, given that they don’t have anything to do that day that’s considered pressing.  Sam sucks a little harder for a moment, getting Dean that much more worked up.

            Dean’s high on lust by the time Sam comes up and makes himself at home over Dean’s body, reaching for Dean’s hands and pinning them over his head as he gives him a long, deep kiss – Sam tastes very faintly of toothpaste and Dean – Dean knows exactly where Sam’s just been but he tries not to think about what exactly kind of… perspiration he’s tasting.  Sam doesn’t seem to care, intent on playing tonsil hockey all the same and Sam’s very, very good at this game, of course.  Dean kisses back just as eagerly, because kissing Sam is pretty much the best goddamn thing in the world.

            Sam pulls away after another moment, panting for breath.  “Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of doing that.”

            Dean’s muzzy with pleasure and he’s got a grin on his face as he looks up at Sam.  “Tired of what babe?”

            “Kissing you.”

            “Want to do it again?” Dean injects a tone of hopefulness into his voice.

            “Duh.”  Sam kisses a little harder this time, reaching down in between them and putting his hand between Dean’s spread legs.  Dean moans into his mouth when he feels Sam’s fingers touch at his hole, forefinger and middle finger tracing a slow circle around the tightly puckered rim.  It’s like a magic button of some sort every time Sam does that – Dean will spread his legs really fucking quick for Sam, always has – he’s hooked on the way Sam touches him down there because Sam can and will give him exactly what he wants.

            Sam’s lips are still on Dean’s as he speaks.  “How d’you want it baby?”

            Dean lets himself enjoy the feeling of Sam’s teasing fingers for a moment before answering.  “Nice and slow Sammy, nice and slow.”

            Sam had been hoping Dean would say that because it’s been a few days and he wants this to last as long as he can make it.  “Anything else?”

            “Not at all.  Just work your magic baby boy, I’m not going anywhere.”  Dean gives him another long kiss and they end up getting lost in that for a bit, tongues sliding against each other and lips sealed together until Sam’s red from it, pulling away and sucking a series of marks down Dean’s torso, a road map leading downwards, running his fingers over them until he has his hands on the sides of Dean’s ass.

            Sam’s mostly careful about tilting Dean’s hips upwards – mostly.  Trouble is he’s horny and Dean’s looking at him like he’s the answer to all his prayers and well, finesse and tenderness be damned.  The injury in his side doesn’t hurt that bad after a good night’s rest and Dean’s not exactly asking him to slow down.  Sam bends Dean almost in half, Dean ending up with his cock pointed straight at his face and his toes touching the pillows – not that he minds at all because it’s kind of hot the way that Sam can bend him like this (he won’t say he’s glad for the yoga he grudgingly does with Sam but it _has_ made their sex life a lot more interesting.)  Dean’s gaze remains fixed on Sam’s face, jade locked with hazel-blue, seeing each other in the reflection of their pupils, just like they always have, two halves of the same whole.

            Sam opens his mouth wide as he sticks out his long, pink tongue and licks over the space right behind Dean’s hole, light over that tight pink pucker and then up his perineum – he goes slow enough to where by the time his tongue lifts Dean’s pulse has jumped another ten beats and he’s already desperate – then again, too long without Sam’s tongue anywhere on him is torture of the highest order and he’s never liked being without it.  The trouble is he can’t figure out if he wants Sam to go fast or slow.

            Sam makes the decision for him.

            As it turns out that first lick was just a tease to get Dean wanting it.  The second one is a lot more intense, Sam closing his eyes and burying his face in Dean’s body.  Dean whimpers because Sam’s using the slightest hint of teeth and that feels fucking amazing, the soft warmth of his tongue swirling and dipping into him – Sam’s gotten lots and lots of practice over the years and Dean’s never once said no to Sam eating him out – he simply doesn’t pass up something that shuts down the thinking parts of brain completely and right now they’re well on their way to off, Sam growling and licking and if Dean had to choose another word, devouring.  Then again he doesn’t mind nor is he really thinking about it, mostly moaning Sam’s name and carefully balancing himself so that the doesn’t go toppling backwards.

            Sam leans forward a little more, hands holding Dean’s bottom apart, opening him up a little more, warm velvet skin under his tongue and judging by the way Dean’s swearing and moaning already he’s doing it right, licking at the soft inner skin and being infinitely thankful Dean loves this – Sam’s a giver in bed, always has been and Dean’s more often than not been the one on the receiving end of that desire to pleasure.  Sam smiles as he opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out as much as he can, making a real show of it and letting Dean see the contrasting pinks, Dean groaning loudly as his fingers dig in and wrench the sheets – Sam’s tongue is rough in the right places and it’s heaven.

            Sam spends a long time opening  Dean up, licking until his chin is wet and there are stubble burns around Dean’s hole – Dean for his part is a wreck, eyes half-hooded and grinning like an idiot up at Sam, dragging him down for a sloppy kiss that’s more teeth and desperation than tenderness – it’s alright though because neither of them are thinking with any sort of coordination, Sam’s dick achingly hard and Dean’s belly wet with precome where his cock had laid against it.  Dean tries to take as much of the taste of himself as he can from Sam’s mouth, legs already tangled and wrapped with Sam’s, rocking his hips against the solidness of Sam’s body as if to convey what he wants – Sam knows and is more than willing to give, reaching for the bottle of lube that Dean conveniently forgets to put back on the night stand under the pillows, making a note to get more soon as it’s three quarters empty. 

            Dean lays back as Sam decides to use the rest of it in one go, both of them needing it to last without reapplying midway through, Dean drooling as Sam slicks his cock up real slowly, circumcision scar glowing red by the time he reaches to finish prepping Dean.  Two coated fingers slip inside easily, Sam making it as smooth and quick as possible because he needs to be in Dean now as much as Dean needs him inside – they’re both stupid with lust, the tension so thick that Dean’s convinced he’s breathing pure hormones at this point.

            “C’mon Sam, fucking need that cock.”  It’s moaned and growled more than anything, trying not to fuck himself on down on the fingers Sam has in his body.

            “Just a sec Dean, don’t want to hurt you – patience, baby.”  Sam gives him as reassuring of a smile as he can, hoping Dean gets the message as he slides in a third finger, Dean swearing and thrashing his head from side to side.  He’s already so full but it’s not enough, it’s not Sam’s cock, perfectly angled and curved to slam into his prostate with every thrust.

            “Shit, _Sammy_.”  Sam had brushed his prostate, making Dean shudder bodily.  Sam can feel that hard spot inside him, swollen in spite of their time in the hot tub last night – Dean’s libido has not slowed down with age or wear, especially when it’s with Sam (which these days is always, after all they’ve been through) and Sam’s kind of proud of that, the intimate knowledge of exactly what buttons to press and when to get Dean so hot and bothered.

            “Right here babe.”  Sam leans down to kiss Dean on the lips, brief but hard as he takes his fingers out and immediately presses the head of his cock to Dean’s hole – Dean grabs onto Sam’s hips and pulls forward, taking Sam by surprise as he slides in a quarter of the way, Dean’s eyes rolling back into his head with just how fucking thick Sam is – he knows they have to take this slow but he needs Sam in a bad way, needs to feel that connection, both emotional and physical.

            Sam takes over and eases himself inside, getting two-third of the way in before Dean puts a hand to his chest, stopping him as he adjusts to a week of not having Sam inside him, eyes closed as they breathe together, hearts beating in sync as they come together in a dance they’ve been practicing for over a decade and a half now.  Sam knows Dean needs a minute when it’s been a while – so does he.  Dean’s fingers grip Sam’s biceps, Sam’s arms planted on either side of Dean’s head, their faces a bare couple inches apart, breathing each other’s air as Sam pushes the rest of the way, Dean’s fingernails leaving crescent moon shaped red marks on his skin, both of them breathing at the same time because it’s like their bodies were made specifically for the other, those puzzles pieces locking together for the thousandth or ten thousandth time (Sam lost count of how many times he and Dean had come together like this sometime after Stanford – they’d done a lot of catching up in that year after everything that happened there… happened.  That’s far from his mind right now, instead focused on just how good it feels to be back inside Dean’s body, Dean shifting his hand from Sam’s right arm up to the back of his head, fingers tangling in the shock of impossibly soft hair and pulling Sam down for a deep kiss that’s equal parts tender and desperate.

            Dean hooks one leg over Sam’s lower back and the other around his waist, Sam moving at his urging – he can feel Sam inside him no problem but he wants to _feel_ him, now and for a long time after.  It helps that Sam does this fantastic thing where he sucks on Dean’s tongue and bottom lip one after the other as he starts to thrust, making Dean’s toes curl in so hard that they’ll hurt later.  Sam does it again, knowing the same trick will work twice – Dean’s not that hard to figure out in bed and Sam’s had the answers to that particular code long enough to variate to where it’s never routine or boring – so long as he can keep a few smoldering kisses in the mix Dean’s good to go, knowing that that’s the number one way to turn Dean to putty.  Dean will swear he’s not into that deeper sort of intimacy but Sam sees right through it, knowing that slow and sweet gets Dean off a lot harder than fast and rough (not that he doesn’t enjoy it.)

            Sam’s lips are still on Dean’s, one arm cradling Dean’s shoulders, the other between them and jacking Dean off, Dean’s arms curled around Sam’s upper back in the effort to hold on and not fly apart since Sam’s dick is splitting him open with each long, deliberate motion, all white heat whose flame drives a little higher every time.  Dean’s warm right now, the best kind of warm, lit from within (and that’s a metaphor he’ll never spill to Sam) and it’s incredible, always is, overwhelmed and consumed by just how fucking glorious the feeling of Sam’s giant cock inside him.  Dean moans into Sam’s mouth on one thrust where Sam finds his prostate directly, his orgasm having been looming and now coming more out of the shadows and even going slow like this he knows it’s not going to be long – a week (or at least it feels like that) without Sam in a carnal way is torture that he wants to end sooner rather than later and given his chances there will almost certainly be a second or third round of this later – if Sam’s the one who initiates this first thing Dean knows that they aren’t getting anything done that day.

            He’s more than okay with that.

            Sam, to his credit, does try to go slow but he can’t help but speed up a little – not that Dean seems to care, given the way he’s taken over jacking himself off so that Sam can focus fully on fucking him.  Sam obliges his brother, hands splayed wide on Dean’s shoulders, and panting against his full, kiss swollen lips.  Dean’s reduced to a litany of moans that vary in pitch every time Sam’s cock pushes back inside, hand around his cock not quite in time with the motion of Sam’s hips but it’s close enough – he can feel his orgasm already starting to build, knows that Sam can feel it too, given the way his hips stutter as Dean starts to tighten around his dick.

            Dean pulls Sam’s hair down for a kiss and all it takes is that one perfect, warm contact of Sam’s lips against his as he nails him right in the sweet spot and Dean comes, spurts of white coating his hand and stomach all the way up to his chest, Sam’s attempts at thrusting as aborted he releases deep inside Dean, both of them exhaling each other’s name on their breath, constellations forming and dissolving just as quickly behind their eyelids, completely, unadulterated bliss achieved before Sam’s body gives out and he collapses on top of Dean, the air leaving Dean’s lungs in a rush but he doesn’t care in the slightest, Sam pulling out and a warm trickle of come running out of Dean’s ass.  Dean trieS to shift and move but he can’t, not when Sam is currently a sated pile on top of him and he doesn’t want to actually move, not when he feels like he’s floating on euphoria.

            Sam does roll off of him after another moment, only to pull Dean on top of him and bury his nose in his hair, Dean’s face half hidden by Sam’s chest, breathing deep and inhaling the warm musk of Sam’s sweaty body.  They both hum their contentment, the sheets a tangled mess somewhere around their feet, Sam’s arms wrapped securely around Dean’s body in a grip that’s more like home than anything else in the world, nothing but the sound of their ever slowing breathing feeling the air.

            Eventually, Dean breaks the tranquility, his voice low and rumbly on Sam’s skin.  “Look in the top drawer of my nightstand underneath the Bowie knife.”  Sam turns over, Dean moving with him so that he can watch, kissing Sam’s neck and securing an arm around his middle as Sam sifts through the drawer and produces a small box, made of wood and with a hinge on one end.

            Sam lays back against the pillows, Dean at his side as he hands it to him.  “What’s in there that’s so important as to interrupt post sex... basking.”  Sam won’t call it cuddles, even though that’s what it is.

            Dean smiles and kisses Sam’s neck, setting the box on Sam’s flat stomach.  “Well… I’ve been kind of kicking it around for a while and uh, it’s not exactly legal or even able to be recognized where it is but….”  Dean’s voice trails off, opening the box.  Inside are two silver rings, one slightly larger than the other, nestled in what appears to be black leather that if Sam didn’t know any better came from the Impala’s interior.

            Sam grins wide, laughing and closing his eyes as his head falls back against the pillows.  “Dean, are you proposing to me?”

            “You know, college did teach you something – stating the obvious.”  Dean tries to conceal his excitement behind sarcasm but he doesn’t miss the way Sam’s arm tightens around his shoulders or the excited flush on his cheeks.

            Sam rolls over, taking the ring box in one hand and using the other to cup the back of Dean’s head and draw him in for a long kiss, tongues sliding and lips stuck together, after which Sam simply says “yes.”

            Dean has to almost pinch himself and if he didn’t feel like he was floating before he definitely is now, Sam’s forehead resting against his, mouthing “yes” over and over again against Dean’s lips and he finally gets the picture, taking the rings out of the box and moving by feel to put it on Sam’s finger, Sam taking the other and doing the same.  It doesn’t feel odd, doing this, simply right, like it was the inevitable event in their long, sometimes rocky relationship but this… this feels unbreakable, solid – as solid as anything in their lives and Sam immediately decides he’s beyond content with this, excited, giddy – he doesn’t have a word to describe it, for all of the words and phrases he knows.

            “Dean are… are we married?”  Sam’s smile is a million watts of white on the last word.

            “Looks that way Sammy.  Say, you don’t mind if I keep my last name do you?”  Dean tries to tease but just ends up snuggling closer to Sam.

            “So long as I get to do the same.  That okay?”

            Dean moves to where he’s straddling Sam’s hips, aware that he’s still sticky with drying come.  “Whatever you want Sam my….. husband.”  Dean’s body thrills from saying the word, gooseflesh breaking out from head to toe.

            “Really loved the wedding by the way – when’s the reception?”  Sam wipes a tear of happiness from his eye, looks up at Dean and puts his hand on his hips.

            “In the bathroom.  Under the shower.  You already know the place, right?”

            Sam can’t help but laugh at Dean’s goofy grin, all charm and giddiness and warmth, kissing Dean before pulling him off the bed and heading towards the door in the opposite wall, Dean rubbing the metal on his ring finger that already feels completely natural.


	2. Chapter 2

****

            Sam’s a little surprised it’s not mentioned sooner but in all fairness they have been… busy the last few days.

            It’s like as soon as they had put the rings on that they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves- Dean is his husband and Sam is Dean’s husband and it’s a little weird but they love it – the idea and reality of being married to each other.  Sam gets a thrill through his body every time he so much as thinks about it and normally that’s all it takes for him to kiss Dean stupid – they’ve burned three meals while stopping to make out and grope each other.

            There’s also the fact that Sam’s never had so much sex in such a short amount of time in his life, and that’s not counting the weekend they spent christening the bunker – he’s honestly surprised that Dean’s been able to keep riding him, letting Sam fuck him, and so on – but he’s showed no signs of slowing down and Sam’s honestly a little worn out by the end of the second day, fourteen orgasms within the space of less than forty eight hours later.

            Dean’s lying next to him, half-passed out and smiling so giddily it’s like he’s drunk, his ass sore but in the best way he can imagine – from having Sam inside him, even if Sam spent more time this round kissing him more than fucking him because his thighs are getting to the point where he can’t feel them.  Sam figures now is as good a time as any to ask the question that formed almost immediately after they had their first three rounds of married sex (the thought makes Sam’s dick twitch with interest and he has to stop himself because he literally cannot come anymore.)

            “Dean, do you want to go on a honeymoon?”  Sam’s voice is scratchy from sex, still tasting Dean’s come on his lips and tongue.

            “Mmmmmmmmmph” is Dean’s reply, too boneless and sated to even contemplate moving.

            Sam sighs, shaking his head and climbing over Dean’s body, rolling him onto his back and straddling his thighs.  “Come again babe?”

            “Can’t.” Dean doesn’t even bother opening his eyes, liking the warm weight of Sam sitting on him.  His dick likes it too but as soon as the blood starts to flow south again he quells the urge immediately because he’s in the same place as Sam right now – completely and utterly fucked out.

            Sam shoots him a frown which just makes Dean grin all the wider.  “You know I can leave and not come back and let you sort yourself out.”

            Apparently Dean doesn’t like that idea, wrapping his arms around Sam and pulling him downwards.  “Don’t.  ‘M warm.  You’re warm.”  Dean gives him a gentle kiss, threading Sam’s sex-mussed hair through his fingers.  After a long moment, Dean breaks the kiss and looks up into Sam’s eyes.  “And yes I do want to go on a honeymoon.  Actually thought of a place already.”

            “Where’s that?”  Sam rolls off of Dean and tucks his head up under his chin, inhaling the scent of Dean’s body and reaching for Dean’s right hand with his left, Dean finding his fingers and playing with Sam’s wedding band.

            “Port Tulane, Alabama.  There’s a cabin near the beach that one of Dad’s friends from the Marines left to him.  Gave me the key when I was eighteen and told me to keep it a secret, even from Bobby.  Never had to use it and as far as I know it’s still there.  How does that sound?”

            Sam’s smiling and listening to the rumble of Dean’s voice, kissing his chest and saying “Alabama huh?  Been a while since we’ve traveled that far south.”

            “And it’s not even tourist season yet.  Be just you and me and some old folks who don’t give two shits about anything but getting more wrinkly.”  Dean sounds excited – as much as he can anyway.

            “You mean you don’t want to wait and see how many tourist chicks end up on the soft white sands of the gulf?”  Sam means for it to come out teasingly but Dean’s arm tightens around him anyway, kissing the top of Sam’s head at the same time.  “They aren’t and never will be you Sammy.  ‘M done with all that because I’ve got who and what I want right here.”

            Sam’s silent for a moment and he feels a swell of emotion – he and Dean are forever now, even though they were in all but word before.  It makes his face flush red and his mouth go dry and he’s got this lump in his throat all of a sudden, so he just buries himself a little further in Dean’s body, taking a deep breath that comes out a little more shuddery than he was intending.

            “Me too Dean.”  It’s barely a whisper but it says all he needs it to say, Dean squeezing his hand and tangling his legs with Sam’s, rocking him gently and inhaling deep the scent of Sam’s hair.

            “We don’t have to go right now do we Dean?”  
            Dean just shakes his head and whispers “don’t want to go anywhere but here.”

            Sam’s more than willing to oblige him.

.  .  .

            Dean does give Sam a couple more days to heal (the wound in his side wasn’t that bad but he still kept an eye on the stitches) before they start packing.  They agree to a week, not including travel time.  Dean figures it’s going to be the only honeymoon he (or Sam) is ever going to have, so he’s got to make it count.  They pack late the night before they decide to head south, moving around their bedroom, clothes strewn over the bed and over the backs of chairs.

            “You know, there’s no reason to pack so many clothes Sammy, seeing as how we’re probably going to be spending most of our time sans clothes.”  Dean throws Sam a wink, catching his husband’s eye and making him smile. _Husband._   The word floats through his mind and there’s that urge to kiss Sam again, dropping the pair of jeans he’s folding and going over to Sam, taking his hands and rubbing his thumbs over the knuckles.  Sam’s still smiling, rubbing Dean’s wedding ring with his thumb and forefinger.

            “Would you believe me if I said it was habit?”  Sam leans in a little closer, lips touching along Dean’s jawline.  Dean breathes in and smells the old books and lots of shampoo smell he’s associated with Sam since they were teenagers, back when they were trading their first kisses, first times….

            That was a few lifetimes ago, Dean muses to himself.  He just wishes he didn’t have to think that literally.

            Sam notices the way that Dean suddenly goes still, his lips stopping on Dean’s face and moving his head to look him directly in the eye instead.

            “Y’okay Dean?”  Sam moves his hands to gently cup Dean’s face and rub his thumbs over his cheeks, hazel-green eyes warm as he waits for Dean to respond.

            Dean lets out a breath, then moves to rest his head on Sam’s chest, reaching for Sam’s right hand and threading their fingers together.  “It’s kind of odd, y’know.  That we’ve had to die and nearly die so many times to get to this point.  Part of me wishes I’d… God, I don’t even know Sam. Maybe that I would have hopped on that bus to Stanford with you and never looked back.  Followed you into hell instead of waiting on the edge of…” Dean can’t bring himself to say suicide, but Sam understands more than anything.  He leans down and kisses Dean’s forehead, then proceeds to hug him tight to his body, Dean’s head tucked against his neck.

            “I can’t make that stuff go away Dean, and I wish I could. I wish that we’d been smarter about what we wanted to be sooner, I do.  But what we’ve had up until now well… Dean don’t ever think I wasn’t happy to be with you.  I mean we’ve had our share of rough patches, I know but I don’t regret not doing it until now because it’s happened.  We’re forever, even if it’s not written down on a piece of paper.  There’s no getting rid of me, and you’ve known that for a long time I think.  I mean, seventeen years of my life with you already?  We have a good head start on most people, you know that right?”  Sam smiles as he puts a kiss to Dean’s temple, feels Dean’s body relax as he swallows and looks up at Sam, his eyes a little watery – Sam kisses his forehead again, then his lips, a chaste but comforting contact that makes both of them feel better immediately.

            Sam can’t help but notice that Dean sticks close as they finish packing though, stopping to touch Sam every few moments.

            Not that he minds in the last, of course.

.  .  .

                        They map it out and it’s a twenty hour drive from their hideaway in Kansas down to Alabama’s Gulf Coast – doesn’t mean they have to stop overnight, just take it in shifts while the other sleeps.  Of course, neither of them are much for sleeping, for the first nine hours, especially since it’s the first time they’ve been out of the bunker since they got married.

            Dean wants the world to know it too, keeps his left hand on the steering wheel, wedding ring shining proudly as he threads the fingers  of his right through Sam’s left, rubbing the warm metal and grinning like an idiot – not that he can bring himself to care that much.  It’s the happiest he’s felt in a very long time and he isn’t going to be ready to let go of it for a long time if he can help it, not with Sam’s presence beside him radiating warmth and affection on a level that Dean’s only felt from him – the soulmates thing is true, he supposes, not just something the ghost of a dear friend told him.

            Sam’s clearing of his throat brings Dean back into the front seat of the Impala.

            “You want to ease up there tiger? My fingers are starting to hurt.”  Dean’s grip loosens but doesn’t slip away, instead moving his thumb and forefinger to twirl Sam’s ring.

            “Sorry – I was… thinking.”  Dean notices he’s doing twenty five over the speed limit and eases it down to fifteen, looking over at Sam and smiling before turning back to the road.

            “About what?” Sam loosens his seatbelt and slides a little closer to his husband (the thought makes Sam’s insides turn to a pleasant mush), nuzzling Dean’s neck and keeping his head on his shoulder for a moment – they’re driving through the flat parts of Texas and there isn’t much traffic on the road, nothing but the roar of the Impala and the sun starting to sink in the west for the time being.

            “Stuff.”  Dean finds Sam’s attention to his neck to be very agreeable, settling back in his seat a little more and spreading his legs – Sam knows that it’s an erogenous zone, Dean’s neck, adding a few kisses to the mix as he keeps rubbing his face against Dean’s skin.

            “Mmmmm.  What kind of stuff?”  Sam’s going into sneaky interrogation mode, his hand on Dean’s denim clad thigh, fingernails scraping over the material, the sensations carrying right through to the muscle underneath and Dean thinks it’s about the best damned thing in the world.

            “You don’t get all the answers, you know.  Gotta keep some things to myself.”  It comes out a little higher pitched then intended, but that’s totally not his fault – Sam’s hands are starting to roam a little higher and for all of Dean’s efforts to not be he’s getting turned on in spite of himself.  Of course, when Sam’s touching him it’s awfully hard not to.

            “Keep the important things to yourself and I may ask for a divorce.”  Sam smiles as he says it, lips still parted as he bites at Dean’s earlobe and palms his cock at the same time, Dean being incredibly thankful there’s not any traffic in the other lane because the car definitely swerves to the left. 

            Dean keeps his eyes on the road, voice breathy as he says “You wouldn’t leave – sex is way too good.”  The moan he lets out is entirely shameless as Sam’s fingers slip under his shirt and he drags his fingernails across Dean’s belly – Sam’s heard him make all kinds of sounds in the past and he figures this one he won’t have to live down.

            Sam chuckles right in his ear, a deep, rolling sound that makes Dean melt.  “You’re giving yourself way too much credit but you’re probably right.”  He kisses the space behind Dean’s ear before gently sucking on the shell, fingers deft as they unzip Dean’s fly and his hand slips into his boxers.  Sam’s pleased with what he finds, Dean’s cock mostly hard and a wet, sticky patch of precome coating the inside of his underwear where the head of his cock lays.

            “ _Sammy.”_ Dean wants to sit back and enjoy whatever it is Sam is doing or is about to do but hello, driving, doing what he thinks to be a good job of keeping the car on the road.

            “You know there is a cruise control.”  Sam says it so matter of factly that it takes Dean by surprise, manifested in the way he stiffens slightly.  Dean wants to smack himself, flipping the necessary button and taking his foot off the gas, attention shifting to the terrific things Sam’s mouth and fingers were doing.

            “Shut up.”  Dean tries to put malice in it, really he does.  It doesn’t work as well as he hopes since Sam decides to detach himself for a moment and unhook his seatbelt, coming back a second later and taking Dean’s cock out of his jeans, giving it two strokes before taking the head in his mouth, precome salty and heavy on his tongue as he opens his mouth as wide as he can.

            It’s not the first time he’s gotten road head from Sam, not by a longshot but it’s the first time in a while and it means a lot more now – his _husband_ is blowing him.  Dean makes a noise that comes out mostly as a moan, hips thrusting up as he moves his free hand to tangle in Sam’s hair, soft to the touch and more precious than any silver or gold.  Sam takes more of Dean’s girthy dick, getting in as much as he can, nose pressed to the worn denim as he moves his head so that the soft lining of his throat is sliding over the ridge, Dean trying to say something but it’s all he can do to keep them on the road.  Sam’s terrifyingly good at blowing Dean, especially in risqué places.  Sam will swear until he’s blue in the face that he’s not an exhibitionist but Dean can’t count the number of times he and Sam have indulged in a little bump and grind in bar bathrooms, under diner tables, on the side of the road where there wasn’t any traffic – he doesn’t mention it though because he gets off on it as much as Sam does, perhaps even more.

            Sam chokes and coughs a little, pulling up just far enough to wipe his mouth, determined to make this work.

            “Easy there babe.”  Dean runs as soothing of a hand through Sam’s hair as he can, considering he’s achingly hard and can still feel Sam’s breath on his cock very well.

            “I swear you get thicker every time.”  It comes out kind of husky and that does a lot for Dean, whining high in his throat as Sam’s tongue traces a long, lazy circle around the head and makes the precome pull at the tip, teasing Dean a little before settling on taking him halfway down and wrapping his fingers around the bottom half of his shaft, twisting as he sucks and earning himself a long moan that settles over his skin like a warm blanket.  Sam slows down a notch, letting Dean savor and enjoy as much as he can, fighting the urge to fuck his hips up into the inviting warmth of Sam’s mouth.  Sam gives him a little more, a long, languid, turning stroke upwards that makes Dean veer the car sharply to the right, swearing as he rights them and Sam tastes a heavy blurt of precome on his tongue.  Dean’s getting close and truthfully his neck’s starting to hurt from being bent over so awkwardly so he speeds things up, jacking Dean off as he sucks as hard as he can from the awkward angle, Dean’s fingers tightening in his hair as his orgasm rushes out.

            The first spurt of come catches Sam unaware and he has to pull off, coughing as he keeps jacking Dean off, thick, gooey come getting all over Sam’s lips and hand, his own cock pulsing in his jeans, the taste of Dean having set him off.  Dean’s gone now, pulling over to the side of the road so that he doesn’t kill them.  Sam’s already starting to sit back up, stretching his neck and then proceeding to lick his hand clean, long pink tongue on display just for Dean.  Dean leans over and kisses Sam, licking into his mouth for their combined tastes, Sam smiling as he and Dean trade sloppy kisses that end up making the come drip off their chins and onto Sam’s shirt.  Sam figures it’s worth it, given the way they sit there more or less cuddling on the side of the road for a solid half hour before Dean shift back behind the wheel.

            “Thicker, you say?” Dean poses as he pulls back out onto the road.

            “Yeah. Your dick’s gotten thicker.  Although I may need to uh, test that observation more thoroughly later.  Just to make sure.”  Sam reaches over and gives Dean’s thigh a squeeze, Dean groaning because he can’t get hard again right now but he really, really wants to.

            “I’d ask how you’re gonna do that but I’d like to get there alive.”  Dean resumes holding Sam’s hand, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

            “Me too, seeing as how I’m gonna ride you stupid as soon as I get the chance.” 

            Dean narrows his eyes and presses on the accelerator a little harder, Sam smiling like he’s got the world on a string next to him.

.  .  .

            They reach Port Tulane the next day right at dawn, Sam having taken over driving the last four hours, Dean passed out and full on snoring in the seat next to him, hand stretched out towards Sam where their fingers had been linked.  Sam eases the car to a stop in front of a small house that looks more like a cabin than anything, the Gulf of Mexico less than a thousand feet beyond it.  He checks the address against the numbers next to the door, faded by wind and salt but nonetheless legible – the place doesn’t look like a dump but regardless very much has the appearance of no one having been there for quite some time.  Sam unbuckles his seat belt and slides his hand up Dean’s arm to wake him, leaning over and kissing his cheek for good measure.

            “We’re here,” Sam says in a gentle tone.  “At least I think we are.”  Dean sits up and kisses Sam chastely before rubbing his eyes to look out the windshield.

            “You know, doesn’t look to bad for no one having been here for a decade at least.”  Dean’s already opening his door, standing and stretching as the sea breeze hits his face, Sam doing the same on the opposite side of the car.  Dean fishes for the key out of his pocket and stepping forward, Sam’s fingers sliding into those of Dean’s left hand as soon as they’re close enough to touch, walk the short distance from the Impala to the front door.

            So far as he knows there aren’t any security measures waiting for them but Sam’s got a hand on his knife anyway, releasing Dean’s so that he can raise an attack if he has to, slap away some device that might be waiting on the other side of the door.  Finding none within thirty second they step inside, still wary as Dean gets out his flashlight and turns it on.  After a quick search they find the breaker box, flipping the necessary switches and soon the lights come on overhead.

            They’re standing in the living room, a couch and two chairs to one side, an old box tv standing on the opposite wall.  Connected is the kitchen with bar, electric stove looking dusty but serviceable.

            “Not too bad, eh, Sammy?”  Dean lets down his guard slightly as he moves around the room, Sam still standing and looking around.

            “Still haven’t seen all of it.”  Sam yawns, scratching his stomach as he follows Dean towards the back of the house.

            There are two bedrooms, one bathroom between them and a small laundry room tucked in between the kitchen and master bedroom.  Dean’s eyes light up when he sees the king sized bed planted in the middle of it, Sam opening the linen closet and finding the requisite sheets and blankets.  Dean’s running his fingers along the edge of the mattress, trying to judge its comfort level.  Sam solves the problem for him, moving up behind Dean and pulling him down, flopping down on the bed and covering Dean with himself.

            “Comfy?” Dean asks, wriggling a little so that his arm’s not bent at an uncomfortable angle.

            “Mmmm.”  Sam’s sleepy, the last leg of driving and the coffee he’d stopped for having long ago had him whipped.  “Wanna sleep a little.”

            Dean looks at his watch – it’s barely past six and it’s not like the sun’s out yet, so there’s no harm in letting Sam rest a while.  “Say, you want me to do a grub run while you snooze?”

            Sam’s reply is to nod into Dean’s shoulder.  “Just not too much beer and chips.  We’re here to relax, not get fat.”

            Dean gives Sam’s side a quick caress before he moves out from Sam’s invitingly warm embrace.  “I’d still stay with you even if you did.”

            Sam’s already asleep, to which Dean gives him a kiss on the forehead and whispers “don’t think you’re sleeping all day princess.”

            Sam mumbles something in his sleep and turns over, the ghost of Dean’s lips making him smile as he drifts into blissful unconsciousness.

.  .  .

            When Sam’s eyes open again he’s aware of three things. One, he’s under a blanket and has two very comfy pillows stuffed under his head. Two, he’s naked from at least the waist up and the window is open, the sea breeze moving across his skin that’s not still covered by the blanket.  Thirdly, something smells really fucking good and he doesn’t realize how hungry he is until his stomach growls loud enough to surprise even him.  Swinging his legs off the bed he stand and stretches, spying the pair of board shorts he’d packed sitting on top of his suitcase.  Figuring he’ll need them sooner rather than later he slips off his boxers and tugs them on, adjusting himself so that his balls aren’t squeezed in the netting inside them.

            Walking into the front part of the house he sees Dean, similarly clad and standing at the stove, humming along to the radio and making scrambled eggs and bacon.  Sam stands there and watches him for a minute, leaning against the doorframe and letting his eyes wander over his husband’s back.  Dean looks good from behind, always has, his skin a lovely bronzish hue (thanks to running shirtless with Sam), the board shorts hugging the curve of his perfect handful of each cheek ass, bowlegs splayed as he shifts his weight to tend to this dish or that.  Sam silently pads across to him, hands settling on Dean’s hips and then slowly wrapping his arms around, keeping them to where he won’t impede Dean’s culinary efforts.

            “Looks like I’m just in time.”  Sam kisses the words into Dean’s hair, moving from the back around to just behind his left ear, Dean turning his head to give Sam a brief kiss on the lips.  It’s warm here, the sunlight streaming in through the window at Dean’s back, Sam’s hands cupping his face and pulling away just far enough to rest his forehead against Dean’s. 

            “It’s one of your strong points when you want it to be.”  Dean tries to make it teasing but it comes out sort of hushed, his eyes closed as he feels Sam’s hands squeeze on his hips, wedding ring warm against his left hipbone.  A station break on the radio jolts them back to the room around them, that and the popping grease in the frying pan.  Dean gives a brief chuckle before letting go of Sam, kissing his chin as he pulls back.

            “Hungry?”  Dean silently gives thanks that the bacon didn’t burn, Sam grabbing a couple plates from where they’re sitting on the counter and taking them to the small table.

            “Mm hm. Maybe for more than just food.”  Sam gives him a lewd grin, making Dean’s inside clench hotly because he doesn’t see that look very often – Sam’s normally all about touches and gestures but plain-spoken lust looks good on him too, really fucking good.  Dean licks his lips in response, only for his stomach to growl loudly.

            “Maybe after breakfast Sammy.”  Dean injects more than a hint of promise into his voice, hoping Sam gets the message.

            Breakfast passes in comfortable silence, their bare feet touching under the table, trading fond looks and smiles, giving Sam pause to think.  It’s all so cozy, domestic – what he’s dreamt of his whole life but never thought he’d really have.  He thought maybe for a time he’d have it with Jess (always with Dean lurking in the back of his mind) but that had been taken away, followed by, well, everything that had happened.  Of course, in all that time, Dean had never left or abandoned him, not really, not through John dying, angels fucking their lives up royally, respective trips to hell – it had all been at times what seemed like a giant test.  A horrible, painful test but Sam feels like maybe he’s passed, maybe that he can have this one thing that won’t be taken away from him.  His thoughts are interrupted by Dean as he runs his foot up the inside of Sam’s leg, wiggling his toes when he finds Sam’s crotch, the semi-soft bulge of his cock rising to Dean’s touch.

            “Can I help you?”  Sam puts down his fork and tosses Dean a grin, spreading his legs wider because fuck all if it doesn’t feel good when Dean’s being frisky.

            “Maybe.”  Dean watches Sam’s face for that change in expression, the one that goes from contentment to desire and soon enough he sees it Sam’s eyes, pretty hazel pools that Dean lost count of a long time ago how often he’s woken up with those eyes sleepily staring back at him.

            Sam stands from his seat, coming around the table and pulling Dean up with him, hands settling on Dean’s hips as he gives him a deep kiss, tongue sneaking out to part Dean’s lips and taste him, Dean going pliant as soon as he feels that touch, only for Sam to back away right as things are getting good.

            “Stay here Dean.”  Sam disappears back into the bedroom, leaving Dean half-hard and disoriented because goddamn Sam has this way of making him forget where he is or what he’s doing when he has his hands on him.  Sam comes back with a bottle of sunscreen, already open and with a glob of it in one hand.

            “Do we have to do this now Sammy?”  Dean’s not really complaining, as the thought of Sam rubbing sunscreen into his skin isn’t such a bad one.

            “Well unless you want to get burned, then yes.  I’m not spending a week listening to you gripe about the fact you can’t move because your skin is toasted.” Sam spins Dean so that his back is facing him, Dean starting to grumble but Sam’s fingers feel really nice as they work in the cold sun block, massaging it into his skin and every now and then Sam drops a little kiss to the back of Dean’s neck, making his spine tingle pleasantly because Sam is sweet on him always, even when he’s trying to make Dean more prepared to face the wrath of the sun.  It takes a while for Sam to cover Dean’s back but by the time he does Dean’s feeling heavy with warmth and he really wants to kiss him again, grabbing Sam’s face right as he’s about to put the stuff on his front, Sam taken by surprise and deciding okay, this is more than okay, seeing as how he’s half hard from touching Dean so intimately for the last ten minutes, Dean moving one hand and untying the knot of Sam’s swim trunks, getting his cock out and feeling pleased with himself when Sam hums his assent into Dean’s mouth.

            Dean gets himself out as well, taking both he and Sam in hand and reaching for the sunscreen, squirting a decent glob of it into his hand and sliding it over he and Sam’s cocks, lined up together and it’s not the oddest thing they’ve used for lube before, actually works quite well for rubbing dicks but Sam doesn’t seem to mind, given the way he’s trying to fuck up into Dean’s fingers where they’re closed around them.  Dean tightens his grip, giving Sam more of what he wants, his left hand on the back of Sam’s head and tangling in his hair, bodies sticky with perspiration from both the heat and arousal.  It’s a wonderful feeling, touching and feeling and just being close together like this, kissing his husband and feeling the lovely vibration of pants and groans into his mouth.  Sam sucks Dean’s bottom’s lip in between his teeth as he comes, spilling hot and messy over Dean’s hands and it makes Dean come too, some of it squirting up onto Sam’s stomach, knees shaking as his climax peaks and he starts to slip back into that feeling of slight oblivion Sam’s so good at causing him to experience.

            Sam steps back and leans against the arm of the couch, Dean still in between his legs as they kiss each other through the aftershocks, Dean’s come running down one side of Sam’s abs, winding a lazy path down the space between his hipbone and stomach – Dean drops and licks it up with one long swipe of his tongue, standing and kissing it back to Sam, pushing him back so that they’re lying on the couch with Sam under him, making out and Sam’s perfectly alright with not going out on the beach right now, not when he’s got Dean right here.

            Dean would agree if his tongue wasn’t busy trying to push the taste of himself down his brother’s throat.

.  .  .

            The next few days pass by in a hazy blur of lazy, warm sex, sitting on the beach sipping beer, fucking around in the sand (Dean gets to be very good at knocking over Sam’s meticulously built sand castles, resulting in Sam hauling him bodily into the water) and it’s all a little surreal because Dean’s happy, truly happy, never having seen Sam with a smile on his face so consistently.  It warms his heart immeasurably, even more than the sun that blessedly stays out for the duration of their stay.  They only have a couple days left and it’s midafternoon, Dean on his back and dozing with a copy of Popular Mechanics on his chest, Sam having gone off to collect seashells when he wakes up to a decidedly Sammy-sized weight on his hips, plucking the magazine off his body and kissing Dean’s tanned chest.  Dean cracks an eye open, pushing his sunglasses up to get a better look at his husband.  Eventually Sam looks up, grinning wide and scooting more up Dean’s body.

            “Glad to see I got your attention.”  He wiggles his hips, right over Dean’s crotch, smiling even more when he feels Dean’s cock start to take interest.

            “Thought you were collecting shells babe.”  Dean places his hands high on Sam’s ribcage and moves them down slowly, Sam shivering when he feels Dean’s wedding ring catch over the jut of his hipbone.

            “I was.  Then I thought about that promise I made you on the way over here.”  Sam nips along Dean’s stubble covered jaw, neither of them having shaved since they got here and he thinks it looks drop dead sexy on Dean.

            “What promise ‘s that?”  Dean’s hands are moving into Sam’s swim trunks now, feeling the sides of his thighs and squeezing a little, just enough to key Sam up a little more.

            “About seeing if your dick got thicker.  Wanna ride you Dean, so fucking bad.”  Sam tries not to sound desperate but it’s been ages since he’s had Dean inside him and he wants it more than anything else at the moment, especially since he dreamt about it the night before.

            “That so Sammy?”  Dean pulls Sam in for a proper kiss, tasting salt and sun on those bright pink lips. 

            “Mmmmmmmmm.”  The vibration from Sam’s voice makes Dean hard, sitting up so that Sam’s in his lap and he has to stop himself from taking Sam right then and there but he doesn’t want to get thrown out of Alabama for public indecency all the same.

            “Then let’s go see what we can do about that.”  They pick their stuff up in a hurry, both walking with erections that they don’t really try to hide and earning themselves more than a few long stares – frankly Dean doesn’t care, not when he’s got a needy Sam to take care of.  They don’t even bother drying off as they crash through the bungalow’s back door, Sam on Dean the instant his hands are empty, sun kissed bodies rubbing each other and making all sorts of friction that Dean finds himself wanting quite a lot of.  Dean’s hands travel down to the back of Sam’s thighs, pulling forward and suddenly he’s got Sam wrapped around his body, long legs around his waist and yeah Sam’s heavy but that’s okay, kissing him hard as he navigates them towards the bed, depositing Sam on top of it as he works his swim trunks off, cock snapping out as he tugs them down and smacking against his stomach.

            Sam gets on his knees, kissing Dean as he takes a hold of Dean with his left hand, stroking and pulling forward, teasing precome out that smears the palm of his hand, wedding ring catching on the wide flared head.  Dean groans, reaching for Sam, finding him just as hard and leaking too.  Sam grips Dean that much tighter once he feels Dean’s hand on him, sucking on Dean’s tongue and whimpering because Dean’s got him exactly where he wants, already desperate to feel him.  Sam pulls away after a moment, looks Dean in the eye as he lowers himself, stretched out on the bed for Dean to get a good look at him.  Sam’s all shiny muscle and bronze skin, his hair a shade lighter from being out in the sun so much, looking up at Dean with a glint in his eyes that means he’s up to no good whatsoever.

            “Gotta get your cock wet for me” he says, kissing up the side of Dean’s shaft as he smiles, licking up under the head to tease, tongue rough and wet all at the same time.  Dean mouths “fuck” as Sam does it again, barely sucking the tip in and catching the silvery strands of precome against it, letting Dean get a good look before he opens his mouth wide and slowly goes all the way down, eyes screwed shut as his nose bumps against Dean’s stomach. He grabs Dean’s hand and puts it on the bottom of his throat, letting Dean feel how the skin bulges around his cock – Dean swears again, Sam smiling as best as he can before he pulls off, breathing deep before he starts sucking him off in earnest, using his left hand to stroke at the same time, wedding ring catching against every vein.  Dean’s got one hand on the back of Sam’s head, tugging and pulling and making it wild even more than the wind on the beach had done, bent forward and reaching for Sam’s ass, two fingers rubbing down the split and over Sam’s hole.

            Sam moans when he feels a finger dip in tentatively, testing the waters and that’s when Sam gets an idea, letting Dean out of his mouth and pulling him down to the bed.  Sam waits for Dean to lie on his back before moving so that he’s straddling Dean’s chest backwards, Dean’s head against the pillows and Dean gets the idea really fast, spreading Sam open and licking in.

            “Fuck, Dean, do that again.”  Sam’s voice is broken from having Dean’s dick down his throat, Dean obliging him by licking all the way up from Sam’s perineum achingly slow, tasting salt and warm skin as he goes, Sam’s stroking of his cock faltering as Dean sets to work, fucking his tongue in and out as far as it’ll go, tracing lazy lines and circles that make Sam’s skin prickle and tingle constantly – Dean’s got this down to a fucking art, has for a long time now, knows exactly what to do to make Sam beg and whimper for him.  Sam tries to keep sucking Dean’s cock, he really does, mostly succeeds in resting his head against Dean’s thigh and pushing himself back against Dean’s face.  It goes on like that for a long while, Dean’s spit running down his chin and onto his chest by the time he feels satisfied Sam’s good and ready.

            Dean moves Sam off of him, reaching for the lube under his pillow, stretching himself out next to his husband and coating two fingers as he kisses him slow and hot, one of Sam’s legs hitched up so that Dean has all the access he needs, both fingers sliding in with little resistance.

            “Feel this Sammy?”  Dean’s voice is whiskey warm in Sam’s ear.  “This is what I live for.  To touch you.”  Dean starts to rock his fingers in and out slowly, Sam whimpering with the movement.  “To hold you, to feel you.”  Dean kisses down Sam’s jaw, mouth coming to rest against Sam’s.  “To love you. Never, ever want to stop Sam.  I love you.  I’ve loved you forever, never have stopped.  Fucking want to keep that as long as I live.  Can’t ever quit you Sam, not even if I wanted to.”  Dean seals his promise with a kiss, Sam’s eyes watering not only with the burn of Dean working him open but also because of Dean’s words, smashing straight through to his heart and it’s like staring into the heart of the sun, immeasurably beautiful and Sam breaks because of it, arms going tight around Dean and he needs him now, needs to be filled and surrounded and loved by Dean, no one but Dean, forever and always _Dean._

Dean reads Sam like a book, not breaking the kiss as he rolls Sam on top of him, letting Sam slick himself up before he holds Dean’s cock firmly, sinking down in one protracted motion, close and hot and perfect, stopping only when he feels the loose skin of Dean’s balls against him.  They take a moment to breathe and relax, chests rising and falling together, perfect fucking sync that’s been a natural part of who they are for all of their lives.  Dean’s hands slide up into Sam’s hair and stay, pulling Sam down gently as they start to move together, Sam going down as Dean comes up, motions long practiced and perfected but never once routine, their dance cards only having one name on them, Sam and Dean, Dean and Sam.  They make it look like an art, this flow of energy and absolute devotion between each other – it’s never, ever just sex, it’s a bond that even heaven’s acknowledged, Soulmates with a capital s.  Dean feels it burning inside him just as much as Sam does, puts one arm around the middle of Sam’s back and fucks up hard into him.

            Dean’s name is a loud chant on Sam’s lips, punched out every time Dean’s hips smack against him – they’re in the home stretch, rushing towards bliss together, Sam taking Dean’s hands and pressing them palm to palm on the bed, crying out because Dean’s got him, always has and right as Sam’s about to come Dean whispers only for Sam to hear “got you baby boy” and that’s it, Sam comes untouched all over Dean’s body, pulsing white all the way up to Dean’s throat, tears falling freely down his cheeks and Dean’s right behind him, slamming up one, two, three times, deep and hard, coming inside Sam and keeping it there, the longest fucking orgasm of his life, right there with his brother, _his husband_ , in some sleepy little resort town in Alabama. 

            It’s a very long time before they move apart, the sun setting before Sam even dares move off of Dean, barely taking away contact as he moves and tucks himself up next to Dean’s body, forehead pressed against his shoulder, face red with sun and tears and the flush of sex, neither of them saying a word.  They don’t need to, understand each other so deeply that the silence speaks louder than any words they could possibly utter.

            Sam does eventually speak though, and it’s so quiet that Dean nearly misses it.

            “Me too Dean.”

            Dean stirs, kissing Sam’s head and asking just as quietly “What’s that Sam?”

            “All of what you said, me too.  Every word.” Sam looks up at him, smiles and puts the palm of his left hand to Dean’s cheek, rubbing slowly.

            “I know it Sammy, I do.  Just don’t ever think I don’t mean it, alright?”

            “Course not Dean.  Never once have doubted you.”

            Dean smiles back and gives Sam a kiss that will linger for a very long time.


End file.
